


Love at first stab

by CastielsCarma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel/Dean Winchester First Date, Destiel endgame, M/M, Murder Husbands, Murder Meet-Cute, Serial Killer Castiel (Supernatural), Serial Killer Dean Winchester, Threesome - M/M/M, will be updated sporadically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23236486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielsCarma/pseuds/CastielsCarma
Summary: The adventures of serial killers Dean and Cas OR How Dean meet Cas and was totally smitten in solely a murderous way.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean/Pax, Castiel/Pax, Dean/Pax
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Dean Winchester is on the prowl for someone to fuck and kill, in that order. He finds the perfect guy but much to his annoyance another man is honing in on his intended victim.
> 
> This ficlet (that started out as a prompt and was part of my ABC's of Destiel) will be a multi-part, I think, stand-alone verse about serial killers Dean and Cas. I'll add on tags as the story progress. I'll update this when moods hit me, but more parts will come for sure. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and comment. Hope you enjoy! =D

Dean Winchester wants to kill the man. Sure, that is why he is in the bar in the first place, but right now his attention is on the _other man_ , the man trying to both cock block _and_ murder block him. Like he is some damn shield out there deflecting the murderous intentions of Dean and ruining his intended play toy.

The bartender walks confidently behind his countertop throne, chats up costumers and makes the patrons smile and laugh while mixing drinks. The beat and bleat of some pop star that is _all that_ right now escape the speakers but the sound is not too loud. Loud enough that it creates an atmosphere while also allowing the guests that order hamburgers, steaks, and fries to chitchat and eat in some semblance of peace.

It's not Dean's usual kind of venue but a man has to change things up from time to time.

The man Dean has his sights on is good-looking, a virtual vortex of charisma that pulls people in but so far he's been rejecting the advances of both men and women. Dean likes that, knows it to be a sign of challenge to come, both in seducing the guy but also in killing him. Nothing makes his blood sing than being able to combine his favorite past time activities of fucking and killing.

Kill two birds with one stone and all that.

But now this other man eyes _his_ guy like he wants to devour him whole.

As Dean angles his body he gets a better view of the intruder. He pulls his brows down in annoyance as his cock twitches to life. Dean writes it off as pre-kill excitement. The man is a sight to behold, dark messy hair, thick arms by the way the fabric of his shirt stretches around his biceps and a face that Dean would find attractive if the fucker isn't about to nab his guy.

The quick appreciation of the man's looks at least turns into something else as said man turns and looks Dean dead in the eyes. His eyes are too blue to be true. Dean wonders briefly if they'd be the same shade of blue when blood pools around him when he gasps for air or quivers in fear.

The man smiles as he slowly nods his head in acquiescence.

An old primal warning stirs in Dean as a rush of excitement goes through him. If the other guy is a vortex of charisma, the cockblocking son of a bitch is something else entirely. There is a darkness to him, one that Dean recognizes as his own. He reads people for a killing and begrudgingly he admits that he might have been too fast on reading this one. Sure, he's hot but he's no beach read it seems, more Lovecraftian with a darkness that pulses beneath.

Old unspeakable terrors, wearer of a thousand faces and devourer of screams.

Dean bites his lips as a million thoughts rush through him. If he is wrong, he plans to kill them both. If he's right... well, someone will still be killed.

The intruder guy gets up from his chair and walks over to Dean, raising an eyebrow. His gaze lands on the empty space next to Dean before his attention is on him.

Dean exhales through his nose in annoyance, looks over the man's shoulder to see his chosen still lingering in the bar. He's ordered another drink and nurses the newly mixed creation, seemingly in no hurry to leave the establishment.

Dean nods and the man takes a seat opposite him.

“Castiel,” the man speaks but his lips are on the verge of spilling other tales. Tales of darkness, horror, and pain. Dean is not sure how he knows, but it's something akin to an ache in bones, a feeling that resonates in his heart.

“Dean,” he says simply and Castiel smiles. Dean can see how he tastes the name on his tongue as if those four letters in that specific combination hold the key to unlocking a mystery.

There is no reason for small talks, and Dean has always found it exceedingly boring. “You have the hots for the guy over there? I doubt he'd be interested in you.”

“There is something burning when I look at that man yes,” Castiel says and he speaks low so that Dean has to strain to hear his words over the hum of the music and the murmur of the other patrons' voices blending together. He folds his hands in front of him, the very picture of a man at ease.

Dean is not fooled. “He's mine.”

Castiel smirks as his gaze linger on Dean. “Is he now? He seems to be oblivious to your existence. But that guy, on the other hand, he's been following you like a lost puppy all night long.”

An urge to stab Castiel suddenly overwhelms him, quickly followed by a desire to nail him with his cock, pound into him until that confident grin evaporates and only lustful moans and pleas remain. _Then_ he'd stab him.

On the other side of the bar, in the corner by a pool table, he can see the puppy waving. A scrawny guy by the name of Garth. A walking talking toothpick of a smurf that never seemed to shut up, smiled all the time and had tried to fucking _hug_ him.

They had talked once when Dean was there a few weeks back. He had contemplated giving Garth a blowjob and then blowing his brains out. Not his usual m.o. but with how the guy seemed so intense, Dean knew he'd never have the patience for even that. So he'd just left him and Garth had followed, insisting that he needed a hug so he knew they were good. After a constant barrage of mindless garbage Dean had consented and now they were apparently friends.

“Oh, that puppy. He ain't lost, Cas. I'ma call you Cas. You don't mind, do you?” Dean smiles and finally takes a swipe of the beer in front of him that was all but forgotten. “Nah, that guy, Garth, he ain't for me. Although I can't blame him for wanting a piece of me. Everyone does.”

There's a sparkle in Cas' eyes. He turns to look at Garth. “Mm, you are enduring. I couldn't go one minute without strangling the fucker. I bet I could wrap my hands all around his neck, squeeze and watch the life drain out of him.”

“Dude, what the fuck you talking about?”

Cas shakes his head. “You disappoint me, Dean, I thought you were beyond bullshit.”

Dean pushes the beer away, but he's high with the exhilarating knowledge that he is _right_. “You don't know me. And don't talk about disappointment. Strangling? What the fuck are you, some B-grade killer LARPing Scream?”

“They used knives.” His voice is smooth, tinged with amusement.

“What?” Dean is about to reassess his earlier appraisal of Cas. He will definitely just kill him, no fucking before.

“They used knives in Scream.”

Dean _knows_ that. But this is real life, not some Hollywood movie that definitely should have ended with no sequels, let alone three. Before Dean rebukes him – nobody talks to Dean fucking Winchester like that – Cas suddenly gets up, flashes Dean a smile and starts walking up to the bar.

Dean shakes his head and follows him. The sight of Cas' ass in those tight pants almost lends him to wave away Cas' insults. Knives. He'd show him fucking knives.

“Ah, Dean. Didn't expect to find you here. This is Pax.” Cas smiles pleasantly but Dean can see a hunger in the shadow that crosses Cas' face as Pax turns to greet him.

He has a friendly, open face, a short beard and his lips split into a smile as he takes Dean's hand. “Nice to meet you, Dean.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Pax.” He can see Cas roll his eyes but Dean is busy steadying his breath. His thumb lingers over Pax's wrist and the beating of his pulse makes Dean come alive. It's an exhilarating feeling to know that he cradles Pax's life in his hands.

A smile tugs at the corner of Pax's lips before he turns to Cas again. “Drink?”

Cas declines. “I'm not _thirsty_ for drinks tonight.”

Only years of training his facial expressions and his patience save him from bursting out laughing. That cheesy line can't possibly work. Sure, Cas is hot as hell, Dean will give him that but it isn't like that alone will absolve him from lame-ass pickup lines.

Pax is not far behind in the sexy-as-fuck league though. He's a tad overdressed with his crisp white shirt, and black tie – although a tie can come in handy in a lot of ways – but he's muscular, strong and a short beard graces his face. But it's the smooth, kissable lips that draw him in.

Dean's eyes ghost over those lips again before searching Cas' face. His lips are not as soft, but alluring nonetheless.

“No, you have something else in mind besides drinks?” Pax speaks softly but he's definitely teasing Cas.

Dean lands a heavy hand on Pax's thigh, squeezing hard. “ _We_ have something in mind.” Like hell is he going to let this one slip away just because Cas uses the most awkward line ever. Finders are not keepers in this game.

He can see Pax's eyes widen in surprise but just as quickly he licks his lips. Grabbing his drink, he hides a smile. The drink lands with a bang on the bar top. “Your place or mine?”

After finally deciding that they should all take Cas' car to his place, they'd talk about pie – Pax is a baker and passionate about what he does – and Dean memorizes several “secret” baking tips that Pax reveals. He almost feels sorry for wanting to kill the guy. Almost.

Cas mostly stays quiet, but his eyes talk way more. Dean is not oblivious to how Cas looks at them through the rearview mirror, and he is not imagining how that gaze falls most heavily on him.

Dean flashes a smile and rests his hand on Pax's thigh.

Just the small pause as Pax stops in his explanation of how to make a killer caramel filling is an indication of what Dean's touch does to him. That knowledge sends a thrill through Dean.

The power of touch has always amazed him. People are so malleable to touch and through it, Dean can provoke any response he pleases, whether it be one born from overwhelming pleasure or near blinding fear. They both give him what he needs in the end.

Pax licks his lips nervously as Cas opens the door.

Dean puts a soothing hand on the small of Pax's back and presses lightly, urges him to get inside.

Pax smiles and Dean's hand travels further down, gives his ass a light squeeze. Encroaching Pax's space, he speaks softly in his ear. “We'll take care of you. Just relax.” He brings his hand up, caresses his cheek and smiles when Pax's breath hitches.

The hallway gives way to an open living room and Dean takes in the bookshelves that reach the ceiling, the wooden floor and the soft couch facing an open fireplace. He'd prefer a TV but judging by all the books, Cas reads a lot. Maybe he's a librarian.

“I need... uh, where's the restroom?” Pax asks.

Cas shouts directions from the kitchen, probably already mixing some drinks or making hors d'oeuvres from scratch. Not that Cas has indicated that he's into to that specifically but he just hits Dean to be that kind of guy. One that is meticulous and neat and what are hors d'oeuvres but not neat and meticulous little food creations? But Dean knows that he'll be sating his appetite by hand anyway tonight. It's just that food won't be the main course.

As Pax leaves to refresh himself, Dean walks over to the books. Not that he believes that books reveal all about the soul but he finds it interesting that Cas has an unusual amount of books on _butchering_ of all things. Everything from modern books with glossy covers and high definition pictures of briskets, pork chops and spare ribs sprinkled with thyme to what appeared to be old vintage leather booklets.

“Like what you see?” Cas' voice ghosts over his neck, leaving a trail over shivers in his wake.

“Don't you think it's kind of obvious, Cas? I mean books about butchering, really? Let's proclaim it to the whole world, why don't you?”

Cas' hands wrap around his hips, pulls Dean to him so his ass is flush to his hard cock. “Takes one to know one.”

“Mm. So what's your plan?”

Cas grinds his cock against Dean's ass and chuckles. “I thought it was obvious.”

Dean turns, grabs Cas' by the hair hard enough that he winces. He grins when he sees the playful smile on Cas' lips and this close, his eyes are mesmerizing. “As long as I'll get a piece of him.” He kisses Cas hard on the neck and leaves trails of his desire all the way to Cas' mouth where he stops before tasting those gorgeous lips. Dean just hovers there and his eyes flit to the books.

“Mm, you'll get a piece of him, don't worry about that, Dean.” Cas' eyes turn cold but a darkness burns there, one that promises to eradicate him with pain and blistering horror.

Blood rushes to Dean's cock and he almost moans from the sheer eroticism of it all. He wonders briefly if this is how every man and woman sees him in their final moments. The thought makes his heart pound faster. “So, is that a literal piece or? A la Hannibal?”

Cas slowly unbuttons Dean's shirt while Dean strokes the sides of Cas' body. He feels the ripple of muscle underneath the fabric, the strength that coils underneath. Cas returns the kisses Dean bestowed upon him earlier, but they are slow, almost sensual in their placement on Dean's skin. They trail from Dean's neck, down his throat, stop to bite hard near his collarbone before continuing down to more exposed skin.

Dean hisses as Cas pinches one of his nipples. Kinky motherfucker, but he likes it so he doesn't chastise Cas.

“You think I'd eat Pax?” Cas chuckles but it's short, ends on an incredulous note.

“Butchering books. And your comment earlier about knives.”

“I'm no cannibal, Dean.” Cas leans in, bites hard on his nipple.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses. “You could have fooled me.”

“Already started without me, I see.” Pax's voice makes them both stop in their exploration of each other.

“Don't worry, Pax, you're the main course,” Dean moans under the continued ministrations of Cas' tongue and sharp teeth.

Cas eases up much to Dean's dismay. “After me.”

The light is dim in the bedroom, casting soft shadows on the walls. Dean quickly glances over what he thinks is an art painting on the wall – just a dark gray blob with shimmers of blue in it – before he smiles at the true art before him.

Cas has not been idle and has already removed Pax's shirt. His hands roam over the planes of Pax's chest, down his sculpted abs and while that sure is nice, what has Dean grinning is how malleable Pax is.

With each kiss, Cas lands on his body, Pax squirms, his body tuning in to feel more. His hands go up to grab Cas' chin but Cas lowers them down to his pants.

Dean walks up to Cas and Pax. The sexual energy is palpable and Pax hurriedly removes his belt. As he pulls down his zipper Dean gently strokes Pax's throat, his nails scraping down over his chest before his hand turns into a farm grasp. Judging by Pax's hard cock he enjoys having four hands on him.

Pax is breathless as he grinds against Dean's hand. “Fuck, you guys are gonna kill me.”

Dean and Cas give each other a quick look. You have no idea, Dean thinks as he removes his shirt, letting it pool on the floor.

Pax has removed his pants and underwear in record time as if the bare thought of losing either Dean's or Cas' touch is too much for him.

Dean turns his attention to Cas, leaves him to work up Pax further. “I can't wait to taste that skin of yours Cas.” He grabs the front of Cas' shirt and rips it open. Buttons fly and as they land on the floor they are accompanied by a shocked gasp.

Pax stills, a moment of shock on his face before Dean pushes him on the bed with a firm palm. “Be right with you there.”

Cas' eyes narrow slightly in anger. “You have any idea how much that – “

Dean kisses him hard, his mouth fusing with the slightly chapped lips of Cas and if Cas' slight intake of air is anything to go after, he's either angry or shocked. Both are alright in Dean's book.

“Favorite shirt, mm?”, Dean whispers against harsh breaths. Cas mumbles something but Dean is too lost to decipher the meaning. Cas kisses like he _knows_ Dean. His mouth is unyielding and his tongue coaxes forth moans from the deepest part of him. A wave of pleasure rushes over Dean and briefly, he wonders if he is the one that's gonna die tonight.

A moan makes Dean whip his head over to Pax, who has his cock in hand, slowly stroking as he watches Dean and Cas.

“Like what you see?” Dean leaves Cas, and removes the rest of his clothes swiftly. Enough with the foreplay, time to get down to business.

“Yeah, how could I not?” Pax bites his lips, a smile creasing his face.

Dean slowly crawls into bed, straddling Pax.

While Cas is mesmerizing in the way a panther is slowly stalking its prey, Pax has this innocent quality to him that Dean gravitates to; he exudes an aura that makes people want him.

Dean can hear the rustle of clothes behind him but most of his attention is focused on Pax. His cock proudly rests between them and his eyes are on Dean's face, searching for something.

“You nervous?” Dean leans in, strokes his fingers through Pax's hair.

Pax closes his eyes for a moment, enjoying the caress. “I'd lie if I say I wasn't... just a little.”

“I know a way to fix that.” He pushes his thumb against Pax's lips, and as Pax flashes his eyes open, Dean shoves his thumb inside.

Pax groans against the intrusion but sucks his finger hard.

Dean feels the pull all the way to his goddamn toes. “Yeah, just like that. I can't wait to fuck you.” Pax grins against his thumb and sucks harder. Fuck, he is perfect. Speaking of perfection, Dean turns to look for Cas, but finds that he's gone.

That sensation of crawling spiders over his back never comes over him, so Dean dismisses Cas for now. He lets his thumb slip out and pushes at Pax. “Lie down, all the way.”

He envelops Pax and revels in the warmth of his body. Pax is slightly bigger than Dean but it's nothing that concerns him. On the contrary, he's looking forward to it. Images of Pax's eyes flashing open in fear, his mouth wide with shock, muscles constricting almost has Dean coming on the spot but he flexes his fingers, digs them into Pax's shoulders.

“Fuck,” Pax hisses. “You like it rough I see, but ease up a bit.”

Dean mumbles an apology and licks a path from Pax's throat to his nipple. Pax's hands are on his shoulders and back, caressing slowly as he thrusts his hips slowly upward. “Mm, every inch of skin on you is sacred. Worthy of worship.”

Pax speaks something but his words are lost in an incoherent cry as Dean takes Pax's cock in mouth.

He swirls his tongue around the head and enjoys how Pax moves underneath him, simultaneously pushing for more and pulling away as if it's too much. Dean licks down Pax's shaft, and the mix of his own spit with the taste of cock makes his own cock twitch in agreement. Dean's always enjoyed giving head and knowing what's to come adds another layer to his excitement.

As he hollows his cheeks, he feels Pax's fingers in his hair, gripping tightly. He wants to move his hips, Dean can tell by how he strains his muscles.

“Christ, you suck so – “ He cuts off as Dean pays attention to his head once more, sucking with abandon while his finger goes lower, teasing the sensitive skin below his balls.

Warm hands are on Dean's back and he stiffens for a second, ready to turn around and elbow whoever it is before realizing that's it's Cas.

Dean turns and sucks in a sharp breath. If Pax is fine wine then Cas is fucking ambrosia.

“Where've you been?”

Cas crawls into bed with them both, ignoring Dean as he grabs Pax's hand and urges him to stand on his knees. “ _Preparing_.” He winks before grabbing Pax by the hair and arching his head back.

The surety which he moves makes Dean's blood boil hot.

Cas leaves bruising kisses on Pax's chest while Dean allows his hands to roam over Pax's back, down over his ass. “Lube?”

Cas reaches over to a bedside table and tosses Dean a bottle.

Dean lubes up his cock, relishing in the slick feeling of the cold lube against his warm flesh. He's been aching for this for hours it seems and he can't wait to get inside of Pax and fuck the life out of him. He kneads Pax's cheeks before sliding his cock in between.

Pax breaths heavily, each sigh of pleasure Dean counts as a victory.

“Down on all fours,” Dean orders.

Pax obliges, hungry for more. He arches his back slightly, inviting Dean in.

Dean's eyes flick over to Cas who slowly strokes his cock.

“Open up.” Cas' voice is tinged with desire and as he arches his hips forward, Pax opens up willingly.

Dean grins and pushes a thumb inside Pax's tight hole as his eager mouth swallows around Cas.

Cas lets out a moan at the same time as Pax screams out his pleasure.

A thin sheen of sweat covers Pax's body and Dean leans in close and licks near his spine, savoring the taste of the skin. He feels the mattress dip and Cas is closer to him now, so close that he can hear the whispers as they travel to him mingled with the strangled pleasure emanating from Pax.

“Before or after?” Cas' voice is breathless but who wouldn't be with a pretty mouth like that around their cock?

“You just tell me 'when' and I'm good.”

Cas nods. “I'll remember that.” He leans in and claims Dean in a kiss that is all hunger and passion.

Dean breaks off the kiss, his thumb moving around in Pax's taint before he eases out. He wants to feel Pax around him. He lubes his cock some more, then rests his head at Pax's hole, teasing him until Pax pushes his ass back wantonly, silently begging for more.

Never being one to deny a hot guy, especially when he begs so prettily, Dean obliges. He pushes in slowly and curses as he feels the tight muscles around his cock. “Fuck, Pax, you feel fucking amazing.”

Pax grunts in reply, but it's garbled, more noises than actual words forming. Cas has his cock deep inside Pax's throat and Dean can see a thin line of spit at the side of his mouth. The glorious sight further spikes Dean's desire and he grabs Pax's hips, his fingers digging in.

He starts fucking Pax in earnest, and each thrust propels him further along his way to climax. His cock slides in and out, and his hips slap against Pax's ass. “God, you're so fucking tight.”

“Fuck me harder.” Pax arches his back for added measure and Dean notices that Cas has left his side.

“Mm, turn around.” He slips out of Pax, admires the gaping hole that tries to clench around nothing.

“Remove the covers, please” Cas states behind them.

Dean is not alone in turning towards Cas at the statement, his eyebrow arching high. He waits for an explanation but receives none.

“Off you go, Pax. We don't want covers to hide that hot body of yours.” Pax whines at the sudden pause but does as he's told. Dean removes the covers and is about to throw them on the floor when Cas shakes his head slightly.

Dean sighs and walks over to the corner. He glares at Cas, but gets a slight nod and tosses them in the corner.

Pax is still on his back, waiting and Dean makes no delay in sliding right back in. They moan in unison as Dean's cock hits that spot that sends Pax over the edge. He writhes underneath Dean, trying to get away but also grabs Dean's wrists and squeezes in a silent plea for more.

Feeling Cas' hands on his hips, and a hard cock between his ass cheeks, Dean stills. It's not really what he planned but not something he wouldn't enjoy either. Sex is sex. But he would expose his back to Cas. It's a notion that fills him with unease but it's quickly replaced, the image of Cas fucking him invades his mind instead, and he nods.

He can feel a dab of cold against his hole, and then Cas slowly pushes in. It burns a bit but it's a good fire and matches the one that's simmering in his veins.

Cas exhales in reverence. “Fuck, Dean, I've wanted to do this all night long.”

Cas' breath is a caress at the back of his neck and Dean starts fucking Pax again.

Pax's eyes are fixated on both of them, going from Dean to Cas and back again to Dean. Dean knows they're sex on legs, but would he make up his mind?

Slamming his hips hard against Pax, Dean places a hand on the sweat-slick chest of his. “Eyes on me, pretty.” He can feel Pax clench around his cock as his eyes land on Dean's face. Dean grits out a moan as Cas' cock fills him up.

Dean thinks this must be how death feels. Thrusts forward that grab you in a vice and pushes backward that impale you with certainty until you realize there is nowhere to go and you just let go and release.

It seems that is Cas' plan – to give him release – because he is relentless in pursuing that goal. There is no preamble, just his hot, sweaty body slicking against his own. The feeling of being full as Cas pounds into him and Pax underneath him, his smooth hole pulsating around his cook drags him rapidly to a crescendo. His moans mixed with the pleasured sounds of Pax and Cas' determined thrusts blends into an ecstatic symphony.

For a single moment, three becomes one. A single, breathing entity, conjoined in rapturous dance.

“You're beautiful like this, Dean and fuck, does your ass feel good.”

Dean exhales heavily, resting with those words as he feels that tightening all the way to his balls. Pax has his eyes closed in ecstasy, panting hard. He's ready, Dean can feel it in how his ass clenches around his cock, in how Pax's stomach contracts.

Dean leans in towards Pax, feels Cas' hands grab him tighter across his hips as he does. He places a strong hand on Pax's chest, lets it inch closer to Pax's throat. He caresses him slowly, places his fingers just so on the sides.

Slight pressure and Pax opens his eyes.

Dean smiles and presses harder.

Pax is relaxed, and Dean surmises that he thinks Dean is engaging in a little kink – threesomes aside. He can feel the moment Pax starts to fight in earnest, where pleasure morphs into pain. Pax's squeezes around Dean's cock hard, and it's almost enough to make Dean come. _Almost_.

He can feel Cas slip out of him but the emptiness is just a fleeting thought. All his attention is focused on Pax.

Pax starts to fight. He grabs Dean's wrists, his primal instinct to get those hands off of him but Dean ignores the burning sensation of nails against his wrists. He grins as he exhales and leans in more, presses harder.

He doesn't need to do that, it will not kill Pax faster, but he enjoys the intimacy it creates. How his body becomes the shield wrapping around Pax, how his face will be the last human he sees, how his pleasure blends with Pax's pain.

Pax's pulse slows down, a living thing writhing just underneath Dean's fingers.

Dean closes his eyes. He's so fucking close.

A loud slam registers in the back of Dean's mind but he's preoccupied.

Right _there_. Dean comes hard, his hands squeezing tighter around Pax's throat. Just as Dean can feel him slither into unconsciousness, Cas is next to him.

Cas is calm as he utters a single word. “When.”

Pax trashes back to life, a scream erupting from him as Cas stabs him in the gut.

Dean pulls away from Pax. “What the fuck, Cas? Now?! I didn't even have time to feel all of it.”

“You can always feel this.” Cas stabs Pax again, using his entire body weight as he thrusts the knife in under the ribs.

Pax tries to get up, all the while screaming but his adrenaline must be waning as Dean and Cas easily force him down on the bed again.

“Shh, shh, no use in fighting this, Pax. Just relax and soon you'll die in peace.” Cas' voice is calm as if he's explaining something to a child.

Pax blinks once, then tries to focus on Dean. “You tried – kill me – “

“Die in peace?” Dean shakes his head, his chest still heaving from the exhilaration of killing Pax, even if it hadn't been ideal. “Well, I'm glad some of us got some peace out of this whole fucking thing. His pulse under my hand, I was so close, and then you go all 'Kill Bill' on him. Talk about a mood killer.”

Red stains the sheets but Dean is busy watching Pax, purposely ignoring Cas.

Pax's eyes search Dean's for answers of some kind. Dean looks back at him calmly. “Really liked you, you had charisma, Pax. Ten out of ten. A true warlock.”

Cas looks at Dean questioningly.”A warlock?”

“What? I was a gamer back in the day.”

Pax finally stills. Or dies. The end result is still the same, he doesn't fucking move.

“I'll take care of the body, you get rid of these sheets.” Cas wastes no time in starting to eliminate the evidence of their bloody menage a trois, as he drags Pax away to what Dean assumes is the bathroom.

Dean sighs and starts removing the sheets. He laughs as he uncovers what's underneath. A plastic case that wraps around the entire bed. What the flying fuck?

“You know how expensive the mattress is?” Cas offers no further explanation.

“No, I don't and I don't fucking care.” He bundles the bloody sheets into a ball. “You have an incinerator in the basement?”

Cas arches an eyebrow that makes Dean's stomach swoop. Fuck him and his hot eyebrow-game. “I'd think soundproof bedroom walls would do. Wrap the sheets in a bag and we'll get rid of it later. Same with Pax. I'll get the razor. We need to shave his head. Tell me, want to play dentist?”

They drive forty minutes, Cas in a car that he's 'borrowed' and Dean following in Cas' car, a fucking Fiat.

The pig farm is shrouded in darkness, not even the lights are on. The sows are in for a treat. The multitude that once was Pax gets unceremoniously dumped with the pigs.

Back at Cas' place, they scrub down the walls and bathroom before finally relaxing at the kitchen table. “Next time, can we wait until I'm done, yeah?”

There is amusement in Cas' voice. “There will be a next time?”

Dean scoffs. “Don't play games, of course, there will be. You can't resist me.” And how about dinner first? I'm not some fucking savage. Woo me.”

Cas opens the fridge and tosses Dean a banana. “Next time then. For now, I can offer you this. Dinner.”

Dean wants to comment on the insanity of keeping bananas in the fridge, that's just a no, but decides it's not worth it. He peels it aggressively and takes a huge bite. It tastes like cardboard. So close to a banana but in the end, it tastes like soft chalk.

He ignores Cas as he smiles, eating his own banana.

“Want to spend the night?” Cas' question is casual, but Dean sees it for what it is. An offering of truce.

Dean takes another bite of the fruit, pretends to think. “In the murder bed?”

“No. That's the play bed. I meant in the other bed.” Cas smiles as if Dean's answer is already written on his face.

“I don't know.” There, let him stew for a few minutes.

“It has memory foam.”

Of course it has. “Fine. But the next kill is mine. And we display the body. Your way of dumping is fucking exhausting.”

Cleaning shit, and using saws, and dentistry equipment. Sooner than later the press would call him the “Tooth Fairy” and Dean could think of at least a dozen more intimidating names.

Cas just shrugs. “I've never been caught.”

“Neither have I, you dick.”

There's a smug smile creasing Cas' face. “Didn't seem to complain about my dick earlier.”

Dean contemplates killing Cas. It's just a quick thought that passes through him. His cock twitches more out of habit than any real desire. Shaking his head, Dean sighs. “Lucky for you that I find you hot. Weird... but hot.”

“Lucky me.” Cas gets up.

Memory foam, he has memory foam. It's a mantra that keeps Dean calm for now.

“You coming, Dean?”

This bedroom is smaller, the mattress sturdy and thick. Dean spots some green plants in a corner.

They settle into bed with natural ease, like they've been doing this together for years. Soon, the light vibrations of Cas' snores echo in the room. Dean sighs. The fucker did kind of murder block him in the end anyway.

There will always be a next time though. Not for Pax.

But a next time for Dean and Cas.


	2. Blood, sweat and tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is finally getting properly wooed OR when Dean does yoga and people get stabbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the second installment of this, I certainly had fun writing it! 
> 
> Kudos are appreciated, comments make my heart flutter with joy. As always thank you for reading.

Dean Winchester contemplates grabbing that vile incense stick and shoving it through Cas' eye. It might kill him if Dean's aim is true but he's really just out to hurt him. It might scare away the practitioners though or whatever they're called and he figures Cas would disapprove of that. 

This was not what Dean had in mind when he said he wanted to be wooed. He mutters a curse under his breath and turns his head to the side, glaring at a blond woman who effortlessly has her hands flat against the floor. He exhales sharply, releasing some of the anger boiling inside him. It also gives him a temporary reprieve from that sickening smell.

Soft wooden walls envelop them on all sides. The light comes through the windows up high and the floor – also wooden – creaks now and then when Cas walks around the writhing bodies that breathe loudly. It sounds like they're all on respirators; a deep timbre that echoes around them, signifying their struggle to breathe. 

If Dean closes his eyes, the sound transforms into something more sensual. The whispering echoes that Cas claimed sounded like the ocean becomes something more profane. Soft sighs that speak of climatic pleasures and outcries, a living breathing orgy that calls for his own breathing to speed up.

A practitioner breathes out harshly somewhere behind him and the sound transforms to the bellowing of a whale. Dean opens his eyes, his mind's illusion shattering instantly. It's annoying as hell, but apparently the correct way of breathing. Cas had explained in the beginning that it's supposed to aid in the meditative qualities of the practice but also increase the heat in the body. Sweat was the aim of the game. 

“Exhale with long, deep breaths and feel peace come over you. Each breath relaxes your body.”

Dean almost laughs out loud. If he didn't know that Cas was a serial killer with a penchant for chopping up bodies he'd almost believe him. Peace! There was no peace when your body was contorted like a fucking pretzel. Peace will come when he's done.

Bendy broad flops down even more, but Dean's eyes are glued on the body that approaches her. He would recognize Cas in his sleep. The thought should be disconcerting, since the act of recognizing, knowing involves a measure – hell, a great deal – of _care_. 

He is certain that Cas would fall for his good looks and dazzling charm. Most people did, which helps a great deal when you want to lull people into what they assume are safe arms. His arms are made to choke though, his hands made to tear asunder and his heart sure as hell is made to divide people's adulation for him and transform it to something darker. 

Yet, Cas has... not conquered him, that is a too ludicrous thought to contemplate, but he has at least sown a seed there. Now things are growing, Dean can feel it. 

He hates seeds and plants and shit. And he has no interest in examining what exactly is growing either. 

“Relax, Dean, breathe.”

I am breathing, you asshole, Dean thinks but he stays silent when he feels Cas' strong hands on his shoulders. His shirt is soaked in sweat but where Cas touches him heat travels down, spreads out through his arms. 

“Breathe in, “ Cas whispers and Dean can recognize an amused tint to his voice.

Dean takes in a long, even breath. Cas' hands are a grounding presence. His touch is furnace hot which should be impossible when Dean feels like he's baptized in fire. This isn't even the hot kind of yoga, dammit.

“Exhale.”

As Dean exhales, Cas pushes down. Dean feels the weight of Cas' body over him and he's sure he can hear something pop in his shoulders. The muscles in his calves object to this unfamiliar movement and Dean thinks grimly that this would be an excellent way of torturing his next plaything.

Cas' hands go lower and again he encourages Dean to inhale. 

Dean has never been more aware of his breath. Sure, when he's fucking someone he can feel the air expand in his lungs, and when he _kills_ someone that last breath they take is pure magic. So while he revels in paying attention to breath, revels in the pure physicality of it and that his power is so great that he can take an inhale of vitality and turn it into an exhale of primal fear, this kind of attention is exhausting.

When Dean exhales, deeply of course, cause there's treasure in the deepest dirt or some crap like that, Cas turns _heavy_. There is no other way for Dean to explain the sensation. He can feel Cas' hands on him but suddenly he weighs a ton and Dean's entire back feels cramped and closed off and his instincts shout at him to throw Cas off.

Suddenly, his body opens up, or relents – he's sure that Cas would use the word _surrender_ – and he can feel things move. He hears a sharp pop. It's like his entire body is a living piece of firework that's finally firing off and it feels good. Dean's vocal appreciation is something between a moan and a sigh. His legs cramp, his arms are like jelly, he's sweating buckets and some weird muscles under his triceps twitch.

“There you are.” Cas is pleased. “That's the moan I wanted to hear.”

“I'll give you a moan,“ Dean mutters, but it does feel nice. He feels wrung out but in a good way.

When Cas' hands leave him Dean feels the loss just momentarily; he's too busy to not plant his face on the floor. His hands are sweaty, slick against the yoga mat and he's grateful that they're moving again until he notices the next pose they're supposed to be in. He tries to twist to the side, his left arm and elbow are supposed to go over his right knee. What the hell is this fuckery?

Dean envisions a knife cutting up into soft tissue, bowels spilling onto the floor. That would help with the impossible twisting motion Cas guides them through. 

Dean scoffs. _Guide_. Cas is more like a sadistic enforcer of impossible movements, ready to break students' legs to get them there. A sadistic enforcer with a dark throaty chuckle that sends shivers of excitement through Dean. 

The contorted position and dull ache of muscles pull him out of his fantasy swiftly. He glances at Cas again. He's back at the front. Whereas he was a sleek dangerous panther at the club days before, he's a plain house cat now. Cas explains something, glides from pose to pose effortlessly and with an ease that Dean almost envies. 

Finally, he sits down and extends one leg straight out as he wraps one arm around his knee and hugs it tightly. His other arm wraps _around his fucking back_. 

Dean groans. He takes back his previous assessments. Cas is not a panther, nor a cat. Cas is liquid. Some alien fucking slime. Hot slime...but still. A fucking yoga teacher. God help them. He moans in relief as they slip into another position, bringing temporary relief to muscles that already feel battered and bruised. God help him.

By the end, the flimsy towel on top of Dean's mat is drenched in sweat. Glancing around, he finds most of the others with their eyes closed, back on the mat and breathing evenly. They stay like that. 

Dean feels a soft peace envelops him, but he's sure that's just his body being grateful that the torture session is over.

Cas wishes them peace and Dean wishes them an abundance of sweat and ingrown toenails.

They shower quickly after all the students have left.

Dean whines and hears Cas chuckle as he turns around. “Too hard on you?”

“I can't believe I just did that.” Dean angles his body so the hot sprays of the shower hit his back and shoulders. They're already aching and he's dreading the day after. He'll never mock yoga people in his mind ever again. Out loud is another thing though.

“You did good for a first-timer.” Cas follows up the statement with a smile.

“You could tell it was my first?”

“I think the whole class could tell it was your first, Dean. Your breath was more the sound of a harpooned whale than soft ocean waves. You're lucky I didn't take you to my first class of the day.”

“Why? You walk on coal and levitate to the sweet tunes of Alanis Morissette?” 

Cas lathers up the soap, spreading it all over his body. Dean follows Cas' hands as they work over his thick thighs, back to that sweet ass of his before returning to the front. “It starts at 5.30.”

Fucking Christ. Cas was crazy. “Every day? Somebody shot me.”

“Only three times a week. I find it refreshing. The mind is clear when you're up early. No distractions for the brain to latch on to.”

The only thing that was clear was that Cas was out of his mind. The mind was clear. Fuck, someone save him. Of course, he'd happen to stumble upon a serial killer _hippie_.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say, Cas.”

Dean steps out of the shower and grabs a towel. He wraps it around himself as he studies Cas. He tries to look at Cas as he would any other body, one he's not interested in killing. Fucking yeah, he'd do Cas again but purely cause he's hot. And a killer like him. 

He has to admit that the killer thing gives this whole affair another level of excitement. Cas could quite literally stab him. Not the hot kind of stabbing but the kind of stabbing that ends with the pointy end in soft flesh. Dean is not worried about that coming to pass though. He's a professional and if push comes to shove, Cas will not know what hit him.

Dean narrows his eyes as the waiter puts the steak in front of him. He pokes it with a fork. It has the texture of meat, and Dean knows his meats – the animal _and_ human kind – but he can't shake off his suspicions that this piece of meat – and he's not talking about Cas – is just out to trick him. The moment he has a bite in his mouth it will turn into some awful grainy mushroom, or even worse, soybeans.

Cas chuckles. “It's meat, Dean. I think we're beyond trickery by now, wouldn't you say?”

Dean spears the piece of steak and puts it in his mouth. An explosion of taste has him stop for a few seconds. Fuck, that is some good meat. He scoffs. “Just because you're ridiculously hot and because we've fucked a dude together, doesn't mean we're soulmates for life, Cas.”

“I wouldn't say soulmates, but there's a kinship there, wouldn't you say?” Cas is amused, he seems to wear a perpetual smoldering gaze as he looks at Dean and his lips are turned up in a smile. 

“Now you're just fucking with me.”

Cas takes a swipe of his beer. “I wish I was fucking you.”

Dean shakes his head, ignoring Cas' compliment. Of course he wishes he'd fuck Dean, who wouldn't? “You allowed to drink that, Mr. Yogapants?”

“I make my own rules. And when I make the rules, people are eager to obey them.” Cas's eyes are fixated on Dean. 

His gaze is so intense that Dean has to use all his suave professionalism as a serial killer to not fidget. His cock apparently has not been taking the same master classes as the rest of Dean, as just the timbre and words of what Cas just said makes it twitch eagerly.

Dean decides to change the subject to something else. Just because Cas happens to be a killer too, and just because they enjoyed a nice body together, and have slept in the same bed and watched sows devour a man and are now on a date, doesn't mean that they're automatically best buds. You need at least three meetups for that. He shuts down his brain that wants to interject that he's been on at least three different locations with Cas and that those meetings should count.

A waitress hands Dean another beer. As she walks away, Dean shakes his head. “I just find it funny. You talking about peace and relaxation when I know you have a fucking _kill room_ in your apartment.”

Cas grins. “Don't be so dramatic, Dean. It's just a spare bedroom.”

“That you happen to kill people in.”

Cas takes a swipe of his drink. “That I happen to kill people in.”

Dean snorts in disbelief as he reaches for another french fry. “Thought meat was off-limits.”

Cas shrugs. “Depends on who you follow, what teachings you study. I find the lessons yoga has given me to be very compatible with my other … passion. Nature has also graced me with a certain flexibility. I consider it a win-win.”

Cas' grin is predatory. Dean shivers as if his subconscious recognizes the very primal threat Cas poses and that others seem oblivious to. It's an electric current that recharges his body, urging it to take action. It's just a reflex though, Dean is not afraid. 

He pushes away the sudden desire to get up and nods instead. “Whatever floats your boat, Cas.”

The restaurant is small and intimate. Candles bathe the space in soft light and there's no music, just the silent murmurings of the other patrons. Dean finds it oddly comforting. It gives the illusion of suspension of time, everyone caught up in their own familiar bubble, the rest of the world a distant memory.

“And what floats your boat? Besides a penchant for breath play gone wrong and knives?” Cas' eyebrow raises and as he turns to face Dean the light of the sun hits his face; a multitude of rays that encase him in a solar halo. He looks like an angel of vengeance. 

“Kids,” Dean says.

When Cas' face changes, his eyes narrowing suspiciously, Dean raises his hands in defense.

“Fuck no man, what's wrong with you? Not like that, I'm a preschool teacher.”

Cas visibly relaxes and nods. “Good. I was beginning to question my own instincts. Not that I could have not amended such a mistake.”

“What, you were gonna gut me like a fish right here?”

“No, I'd drag you into an alley first.”

Dean approves from a purely serial killer standpoint. “Too public here, yeah. Good to know you're cool and collected.” He adds, “At least when there's a crowd.”

Cas sighs. “Pax again?”

“Damn right. I was so fucking close, Cas. You know how long it can take me to find a guy like that, that radiates power – “ Dean leans forward, his nose almost touching Cas' face. “ – power that I can snuff out? And you say _I_ like knives?”

“It was the right time.” Cas smiles and looks Dean dead in the eye. “Just look at it as a complex form of edging.”

That fucker. Blood rushes to Dean's cock and he grits his teeth. Seriously, if this keeps up he has to get laid. He licks his lips. Cas is right there, so he might as well. It's just a matter of convenience, nothing else and judging by how Cas was on him last time, Dean knows he wouldn't oppose.

Cas' breath is on him and Dean feels the urge to claim his lips and render him breathless. He notices the corner of Cas' mouth quirk up ever so slightly, he would've have missed it if he wasn't so close. Cas thinks he's all that. That he can just wiggle his finger and Dean will do his every bidding. Well, Cas is in for a surprise.

“When I walk out of here, you can sit tight. Just look at it as a complex form of being single.”

Cas laughs out loud, a throaty, genuine sound that is so infectious that Dean can't help but oblige the pull it has on his own lips. It was a good joke, he's allowed to self-indulge.

“Don't go. I can't be on a date alone, can I?”

Dean quirks a smile. Cas is putting on the charm, Dean can tell. No wonder he hasn't been caught yet. He's smoother than a jar of Skippy. “Well, the meat is really good. Beer is good. The company is – “

“Good?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, you're alright Cas, maybe even more than alright.”Gods, he needs to lay low with the buttering. Cas is not a fucking chicken ready to be barbecued.

“Kids? I wouldn't have guessed.” 

Cas sips his drink but Dean sees it for what it is. An opportunity to make peace and move on. 

“Yeah, the tiny ones. Drool, two-syllable sounds, diapers... so many diapers, Cas.”

Clearing his throat, Cas shifts on his seat. “Must say, I'm surprised.”

“Well, I'm surprised you're a goddamn yoga teacher.”

“I guess we come in every shape and form.” His gaze lingers on Dean's face. 

If he's trying to remember every freckle, Dean won't stop him. He turns to the side, showing Cas his best angle. He could totally have been a model. It's not that Cas' eyes on him are too much – a searchlight finding every deep shadow and secret – and that he seeks some reprieve from that intense scrutiny. 

Dean takes a swipe of his beer, his throat too dry all of a sudden. “I always... felt kids needed to be taken care of, you know. They deserve to play, and have fun and just be. And I have a knack for it, so why not? As for the other part, it is what it is.”

Cas nods. “That's the truth. I don't fall into any of the known... categories for people like us.” He grins suddenly. “If a psychologist ever gets their hands on me, they're gonna rip their hair in frustration.”

Dean nods absentmindedly as he waves as the waitress. “I bet.” He places another order and watches the woman walk away, her hips swaying. The skirt is nice and tight, showing off her ass. She would look gorgeous without clothes too, she is _hot_. 

Dean's mind flashes immediately to Cas' hands on his skin, his own hands on Pax' skin. Sweat, mingled breaths, blood that sprays, that demanding aura that he's come to know as Cas' presence. Cas has been with him just a fraction of time yet his mark lingers on him, echoing into eternity.

Dean is changed. The question is how? He pauses. 

Great, he's getting all fucking sappy. There's a time and place for that and now sure as hell isn't the time. Nor place. He can't fully appreciate Cas wooing him if he's stuck thinking poetic crap right now. He can do that at home.

“Chocolate milkshake?” Cas asks.

“Don't worry, Cas. I ordered two straws. A date demands a desert.”

Cas smiles. “True. I wish it was vanilla though.”

Dean lets out a disapproving sigh, not even trying to hide the frown that spreads on his face. “I'll pretend I didn't hear that. You wanted to woo me. Shakes are the way to my... well, not heart but at least to my bedroom. And from what I've seen, you're anything but vanilla, Cas.”

“Very true, Dean.”

Darkness settles outside, but it's a sudden realization. Dean looks at his watch and sighs. “Not that I didn't like this, I do, but it's time to head back home. I start work early tomorrow and I need sleep.”

“All work and no play?” Cas leaves his credit card in the check cover, Dean is not one to complain about that and after they've both left a generous tip they open the door to the cool night air. 

The darkness and dampness left by a quick rainfall is a welcome reprieve to the heat that's been gripping the city all day. They amble slowly through the city center. Closed shops still illuminate their goods with muted lights and low music can be heard from open windows nearby. 

This is a relatively quiet part of town. The hip kids are in the south parts, dancing their asses off and making out with questionable quinoa chewing people. Dean feels a sudden urge to ask Cas if he nibbles on quinoa and the mental picture that goes with it is too much. He bursts out laughing.

“Something I said?” Cas inquires, surprise in his voice.

“Nah, nothing, just... overactive imagination is all.” 

The shadows playing over Cas' face give him a more stern, unyielding expression. Dean's heart quickens. Like a fucking teenager all over again, he muses for himself. But he has to remember that this cat has claws. Not that Dean doesn't like to be scratched but he's not into this... thing they have to lose fingers. How the hell can he wrap his hands around someone's throat then? Impossible.

“How early is early?” Cas asks as they amble on.

“Six, but it's a twenty-minute drive too.”

Cas sighs. “I don't understand how five-thirty is such a big difference from six.”

“No. I'm not gonna' go up earlier than I have to and bend my body in positions that are probably gonna give me arthritis later on.”

“It's actually the opposite. Just like when a pig uses its – “

“You comparing me to a pig? You know, we just met. It's not too late to get a knife in the belly, Cas.”

“I've always found those deaths to be exceedingly boring.”

Dean laughs. “Good. I'll give you a boring death then.”

They walk past one of the smaller streets, perpendicular to them. The lamp doesn't reach into the corners and Dean realizes that the light is out. It's only out of habit that he stops. But that's a lie. He feels a sudden knowing, a whispering that he always listens to. He learned the hard way that he should always listen to that voice. 

He cuts off the onslaught of memories that threatens to wash over him and focuses on the present.

Cas stands still too, his head angled as if he's listening to something. “You saw that?” It's not even a question, just a statement he expects to be true.

“Um, I felt something.”

Cas' squints and points to the narrow street leading away from the main road. “There, see that movement!”

Dean sees jack shit. It's probably a rat, a bird or a fat alley cat. 

Cas is already heading in that direction, his sure footsteps surprisingly silent. His hand goes to his belt as if he's making sure something is there. 

To Dean's knowledge, Cas doesn't carry any gun.

He curses loudly as Cas keeps on walking with no intention of stopping. They're killers, not vigilante superheroes trying to do the right thing. The right thing is to keep on walking. Instead, Dean runs up to Cas. 

His shoulder brushes next to Cas as they keep on walking. Together. Not out and away from, no, but towards whatever.

“You need glasses.” 

Dean stiffens at the insult. “I don't need fucking glasses.” He spits it out through clenched teeth but he's hyper-aware of the nothingness in front of them. Something is wrong.

They're almost there when Dean sees another shadow move and realizes there are not one but two persons pressed against the wall. 

A light, circular and soft, floods the walls. Cas holds up his phone, the weak-ass flashlight turned on, as if that is gonna help. It does at least bring clarity to what they're seeing. 

A man is hovering over someone, his arm wrapped around and holding the other person. It's basically a scene from a cheap romance novel; the bad kind with cheesy pickup lines and a ridiculous plot, but hey, as long as Mr. Novak does his eye wink the lady will fall heads over heel and that's what counts. 

His body is angled so that Dean can't see much but he can bet his Led Zeppelin collection that the guy's not there to smooch up someone. 

The creepy guy turns his head sharply towards the light and Dean recognizes the lurker.

Time stops for a few seconds, like in those movies where time... well, stops. But there's no suspended water droplets, suspenseful music, and flashy angles. No, it's just Cas next to him, on high alert – Dean practically feels the man vibrate with excitement. Dean's normal surge of exhilaration is somewhat diminished though as he realizes who he's looking at.

It's Oren. 

Oren, as in his fucking colleague from work. Oren that wears knitted vests and has his hair in a ponytail and makes the kids fucking smoothies with spinach. Spinach! Fucking blasphemy. 

“Oren? What the actual fuck?”

It's as if those four words rattle Oren out of his surprised stupor. He let's go of the wall and turns around, running with speed away from them. He's not elegant as he tries to put as much distance between himself and Dean and Cas; it's less graceful swan and more flapping kiwi bird.

The rush of Dean's blood as it courses through his veins, his heart that beats loudly, the excitement that floods his whole system; he's fully and utterly alive.

Dean rushes forward, the adrenaline giving him a much-needed boost. Oren must still be in shock; he's not running at full speed and slips once on a leaf or whatever. 

Dean is so close that he can smell him. A grin plays on his lips. 

Just as Dean reaches out to pull the fucker to the ground, something whirls past him. The hair on Dean's arms stands up as Oren screams once, before plummeting to the ground. 

Dean jumps on him and slams a forceful knee in his back. As Oren grunts out a harsh exhale, Dean sees something glinting in the moonlight. He wraps his hand around the blade lodged near Oren's clavicle, still in soft flesh and pulls it out. 

What the actual fuck?

He turns around quickly and sees Cas. The light of the phone is muted, probably turned down but Cas is waving. 

A knife. Dean sighs but is nonetheless grateful that Cas had something on him. It makes killing Oren much easier.

Oren's face is pushed to the ground and Dean knows he's crying. He can sense it, the small shakes that travel up through his own body. A bolt of pleasure flies through him but Dean is not there to indulge. Public venue and all that. 

And he's fucking pissed.

Cas is next to him, hovering like Death himself, eagerly awaiting a newly crossed-over soul. 

“You're killing people?” Dean's voice is laced with fury, a wave of cold anger that loosens Oren's tongue without much ado.

“It was an a -a -accident.”

Dean frowns and presses his knee more heavily on Oren's back.

Cas makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “If six stab wounds from what I could tell in the darkness is an accident – “

Dean grabs the knife lodged near Oren's neck and pulls it out. 

Oren screams as his hands fly to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Dean shoves his face deeper into the ground, which muffles some of the sounds. Anger courses through his body mingled with a sickening feeling of betrayal that gets washed away in another crushing wave of blazing hot fury.

“What about the kids?”

Oren seems so confused that for a moment he forgets to cry, his whole body calming down as he racks his brain. “The kids?”

“ _Our_ kids you fucknut! You touched or harmed any of them in any way I swear – “

“No, no, no. I never... no kids.”

Dean just grunts, the asshole is not worth a reply.

Oren is still weeping, a sound that grates on Dean's nerves. His fucking kids. 

He grabs the knife and stabs Oren in the throat, digging in deep and pulling up. Blood instantly flows and as Oren tries to scream more blood gushes down his throat, muting his pleas for help. 

The warm liquid sprays over Dean, but he keeps the knife there until he feels Oren go limp as the last trickle of life seeps out of him

When he's sure Oren is dead, he gets up and heads for the exist. 

Cas walks next to him, silent. 

They walk in the shadows, avoiding a lonely woman walking on the street across from them. The sight of the Impala soothes the worst of Dean's temper and they drive in silence for a few minutes.

“Where to?” Cas' voice is laced with curiosity but he doesn't push it, not yet.

Dean almost laughs. They've known each other for what, a few weeks and already it's a lifetime. It seems like Cas has picked up on all of Dean's silent cues. Or maybe it's a serial killer thing, some sort of unconscious telepathy going on. Who the fuck knows?

“We drive to the Crossroads gas station. I'll give the knife as a secret gift to a truck driver. In a few hours, it'll be across the state lines. Then we had back home. Clean the knife good, Cas.”

Cas pretends not to hear him, but Dean knows the jab hits home when Cas rolls his eyes. “Are you gonna drive shirtless all the way?”

Dean frowns. “Not a drop of that blood is gonna get smeared on Baby, you hear me? And don't tell me you don't like the look of this hot body.”

“I'm more worried about the body in the trunk.”

Dean lowers the music that has been playing, another Led Zeppelin mixtape, much to Cas' dismay. “Relax, Cas. Just because we don't make mincemeat of him, doesn't mean the body will be found. I compromised, didn't I?”

“Agreeing not to gut him and I quote 'display his filthy innards like the gutless piece of shit he is' is hardly compromising.”

“Yeah, yeah, for being a yoga guru you're awfully uptight sometimes, Cas. Relax, breathe.” He laughs as Cas glares at him. “You have the shirt?”

“Packed up and ready. We can burn in the woods when we return from Crossroads, I suppose.”

They settle for silence again but after a few minutes, Dean speaks up. “I knew I shouldn't have trusted that asshole. Who drinks decaf while working with kids? Don't get me wrong, I love the little shits but even I need a cup of joe before I can be my awesome self. Goddamn killer.”

Cas quirks an eyebrow. “Dean, you're a killer too.”

“That's different.”

Cas nods slowly, in a way that conveys all his misgivings about how that is any different.

“Hey, I kill big people. The only thing that is allowed to kill young people is life when they grow up and realize life is not all sunshine and pie. If anyone as much as touches a hair on their heads, I'll cut their fucking hands off. “

“I understand. They're in your care after all and you have a sense of duty to protect them.”

Dean grins, doing a finger gun towards Cas. “Now you get it. It's the right thing to do, I'm not a monster.” 

Dean eases into his seat, watches as the landscape turns more rural with each passing mile. It's gonna be a long night but he finds that he doesn't mind as long as he has Cas as company. And no, he's not going to analyze that line of thoughts. 

Cas surrounds himself with a relaxing aura... when he doesn't make Dean squirm with frustration, be it of the sexy kind or not. Maybe all that yoga makes him ooze out some soothing vibes. 

A small smile pulls at Cas lips as he looks at Dean. “Was your date satisfactory?”

“Blood, sweat, and tears. A little less sweat next time, Cas. I honestly think I'll die if I do another yoga session but yeah... “ He smacks Cas on the arm. “I'd date you again!”

Cas tries to hide his smile. “Good to know, Dean.”


End file.
